


to be real

by grayisnotsocial



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Imaginary Friends, Light Angst, One Shot, Writing Prompt, ~1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayisnotsocial/pseuds/grayisnotsocial
Summary: A "narrative essay" I had to write for English. I like it, so I figured some of you might, as well. Based on a prompt. "You are a kid's imaginary friend. He's growing up. You're fading away." tagged major character death doesn't happen in the story, but causes it and is mentioned throughout so i included it in warnings.





	to be real

**Author's Note:**

> i dont really like original works but i dont like tomatoes either and lots of people do so i guess enjoy

When I woke up in his bedroom, standing near the doorway, I was too shocked to move. And it wasn’t because I woke up standing. No, it was more along the lines of my waking up at all that surprised me. I never thought waking up was a thing you could do- after dying, that is.

In the moment I realized that my car was going to crash, I'm pretty sure my thought process sped up by approximately 200%. I realized that, were the accident only seconds away to prove fatal, I had so many things I'd left unfinished.

The quilt I promised to sew for Cousin Beth is missing five squares of fabric. I still haven’t set the Xbox up downstairs for Anthony. I had been planning on congratulating Chad and Gracie on their engagement when I got home. Little things like that flickered through my mind as I initially swerved. But, biggest in my mind when I was past the initial burst of unfinished business was the fact that, if the accident proved fatal **( _that fall looks pretty fatal)_** I would miss him. Him growing up, growing into himself.

As I careened off the road, I imagined many possibilities for the near future. Being pretty much a complete pessimist, none of them involved surviving- I was envisioning all the regrets and disappointment…. trying to come to terms with things.

Not that I managed to. A car crash doesn't generally leave one much time for coming to terms with death, and I daresay not much does.

The point is, I never thought I would ever see him again. Not that I thought I’d be meeting anyone else, but. Well. _Anyway._ I thought it was over.

Yet, there I was.

With him, again.

My state of mind was drifting between **‘this shouldn’t have- there is no precedent- _oh my god- did that just- WHOA-’_** and **‘ohmygodohmygodimsogladyourehereandimhereandyoureokayandohmygod _relief’_**.

After what was likely a long time **_(thoughts racing- can't keep track-_** **calm. _no, can't, am I breathing? Probably… NO IM NOT IM DEAD- whereamiwhatishappening, ohgodohgodohgod-_** **be calm.** **_ohgod,ohgod,ohgod,)_** , I slowly came back to my senses.

There was a slight movement of my left hand and upper arm. I looked down, still pretty out of sorts. It appeared that, at some point during my…. _episode…_. _**(im fine, im fine,)** _ I unconsciously sat myself on the edge of his bed. The movement was Pip’s chest rising and falling under my hand. I inhaled shakily _(in, out,)_ and sagged tiredly, slipping to the floor.

A long while later, staring at the off-white ceiling from my pancake on the floor, I made the executive decision that I’d had enough ~~anxiety~~ ~~panic~~ stress for one day. Deal with it tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.

 

_~~Three Months Pass~~_

 

It’d been three months, and I had decided that continued existence wasn’t something to panic about. There’s that weird saying about the mouths of gift horses, and it was circulating in the back of my mind during those months.

After Pip began seeing me in the park **_(confusion- im right here- no- why- LOOK AT ME-)_** , I found hope. Rather than falling ~~deeper~~ into a microscopic spiral of panic, I began watching.

When Pip was at home, Anthony did his best. He made meals the best he could **_(he seems incapable of burning ramen, at least-)_** and spent time with his son when he had the chance. He hid the strain in his smile, pretending for Pip’s sake that everything was fine.

However, I saw the confusion in Pip’s eyes when Anthony turned his back, the tears on his cheeks late at night when he thought himself alone. I was formless next to him, hugging him as he sobbed. Pip, of course, was unaware of my nonexistent hugs, and I wished I could give him something more than comfort he couldn’t feel.

When Anthony was working, he had little choice but to leave his child at daycare. Before leaving, he told one of the adults that Pip had recently lost his mother. The staff, not quite sure how to help, gave him pitying looks, treating him as a drunkard does a glass sculpture. That is, not at all in the manner they should. The other children picked up on the staff’s conflicted attitude in regards to Pip, and were uncertain of the origin. Was there something wrong with him? Was he badly behaved? _Better safe than sorry._ In the end, Pip was left with no one with whom he could play.

When he grew up, he would understand why awkward silences followed in his wake when people asked where his parents were. (“Daddy’s at work, and he said Mommy went to heaven.”) At that point, Pip was a confused child with no concept of death. All he knew was that his mother was gone and adults treated him different and his peers played with each other, but were hesitant to approach him.

I wanted to weep at how lonely he looked, alone in the corner at playtime.

The first time Pip saw me, it wasn't me he saw, but a little girl. I figured he just wanted someone his age to play with. I was happy regardless. We ran around and drew in the dirt and I showed him how to make a mud pie. Something a responsible adult would not do, but that I could get away with. A silver lining, perhaps.

**~~~~~~~**

Two months later, we played every day. Pip had begun seeing me at home, as well. The first time he acknowledged my presence, I didn't have to fake my childish squeal of delight.

Something one of the staff at the daycare said yesterday left me with a smile and a defined purpose. It wasn't something entirely unexpected, though I was somewhat put off that I hadn't put a name to it myself.

**~~~~~~~**

“The poor child, always left alone,” said Dani, a newer volunteer. (It was this sentence, spoken slightly loudly, that caught my attention.)

“I know!” (Dean- the janitor- was always sympathetic to all of the children's slightest problems. This was probably what made him so agreeable, despite cleaning all their messes.) “Little Paul seems to fair right well on his own, though. I don't think I’ve seen him looking lonely more than once or twice!” Dani nodded.

“My boyfriend’s little sister is much the same way. She whiles away the hours her mother spends in meetings chatting with her imaginary friend, telling him how her day went.”

**~~~~~~~**

That was where I zoned out in favor of _deep_ thought.

Eventually, I decided.

No way would I ever be able to be Pip’s mother again. He needed living, breathing parents he could depend on. That I knew, and had accepted.

On the other hand, what was stopping me from taking up another role in his life? If everyone thought I was imaginary, then that would be just fine by me. For Pip I would do anything, become anything.

And right then, what he needed most was a friend.

**~~~~~~~**

As soon as my form twisted into one not my own I became worried. It took a huge emotional response to trigger something like that. When he ran into his bedroom and slammed the door, sobbing, my worry only grew.

I approached as Pip sobbed into his pillow, nosing at his arm. A dog made sense, if I thought about it. Hugging a dog is great for relieving stress. This was proven as he slowly calmed down, sobs quieting as he hugged me. I was fairly certain that, had I been a real dog, Pip would have strangled me long before he calmed down. _Small blessings,_ I thought.

At some point he grew quiet, and I twisted back into what I’d learnt to be my base shape- the way I was pretty sure I looked when I was alive. I allowed him to tightly grip my hand, wiping his tears off on his sleeve. Looking down, I grimaced at the state of his clothing. Not that I could do anything about it. 

“What’s upset you, Pip?” I asked softly. He sniffed slightly before replying.

“He said you’re not real, that you’re imagary! That I’m making you up!” Pip spoke firmly, confident in his self-righteous belief in my existence.

I absentmindedly corrected him, “Imaginary. Not ‘imagary’, imaginary.” He nodded. Then, he looked up at me with an expression of vulnerability.

“...You are real, right?”

I shifted slightly. Was I real? I couldn't lie to him. "Whether I'm real or not is unimportant, in the grand scheme of things. But I'm here, and I love you either way.  _Love_ is impossible to fake." I smiled down at him. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. When did I stop understanding his expressions?

We were both quiet for a moment, but it didn’t last long.

**~~~~~~~**

It had been weeks since we last spoke.

I was fairly certain it was school that instigated this. Pip was fine in kindergarten- it’s pretty much just a transition year, anyway- but then, he began the first grade.

In first grade, you get teased for speaking into thin air.

So he began ignoring me. The classic-  _maybe if I ignore it, it will just go away._

Although, for once it appeared to be working.

As the weeks had gone by, I seemed to slowly be fading. My memories of my life before the crash had slipped, slowly but surely, out of reach. I couldn’t even remember my own first name. Even my memories as Pip's imaginary friend had faded into unimportance. Each thought seemed to have happened decades ago mere seconds after it crossed my mind. When I looked down, instead of my seemingly human form that had become the norm, I was a translucent clump of mist in the vague shape of a human being. Even as I watched, I faded.

What was his name again?

Where was I?

I supposed I should have been glad I had that chance at all. I was dead, wasn't I? I’m pretty sure continuing on isn’t a thing the dead do.

I was sitting in your room, on the edge of the bed. That was where I’d spent most of my time, I thought. I laid down. I didn’t look at myself- at that point, it was a useless endeavor that would only end in a spiral of thoughts I had no desire to deal with.

Instead, I looked at the ceiling.

I had a feeling I’d spent a lot of time just staring at that ceiling, painted a rather tacky shade of off-white. The extensive web of light cracks in the paint formed an intricate pattern that was easy to get lost in- following a tiny fissure until it faded into the ceiling, then finding another. I slowly slipped away.

**~~~~~~~**

That afternoon, when you get home from school, you quickly run to your room and change into clean clothing. As you turn to leave, you pause slightly. **_Am I missing something?_**   you think.

Your father calls up the stairs, “Paul! Are you changing, or are you napping?” You shake the strange feeling from your thoughts. If you've forgotten, it probably wasn't that important, anyway.

Or, perhaps, there was never anything there in the first place.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if i made any glaring mistakes feel free to leave a salty comment. it's unbeta'd and i just did a rush job to reformat this, along with changing to past tense and first person so there's probably errors all through. feel free to leave feedback. or not. idk i dont really care about this story.
> 
> 2018-11-09: grammar/word choice edit


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